


The Words

by babydollbucky



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-09-01
Updated: 2018-10-09
Packaged: 2019-07-05 06:13:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15857871
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/babydollbucky/pseuds/babydollbucky
Summary: Drabbles inspired by single words.





	1. 1

**Author's Note:**

> Structured sort of fics like this have always been my favorites to read--5+1, one-word prompts, one-sentence, etc. I'm always in awe at how authors can make you feel so much in so little words. I decided to try my hand at it. The words are just random, taken from any and everywhere.
> 
> Thanks for reading!

**first**

  
  
The first time Steve saw the scarring on Bucky’s shoulder, he cried. He was silent while tears streamed down his face. There was nothing he could say-nothing that would assuage his guilt at seeing such obvious proof of what his failure had done to his friend. And he knew that no matter what he said, how he tried to apologize, Bucky would only say it wasn’t his fault.

 

* * *

**heartache**

_  
_ It broke Bucky’s heart to hear how alone Steve had been those two years after the ice. He listened to the Avengers’ accounts of how Steve acted. Sam said he was depressed ( _“He didn’t know what made him happy. He really felt he had nothing.”)._ Natasha said she was concerned about his tunnel vision (“ _The mission, it was always the mission. He’s damn good at the job, but he didn’t really take care of himself.”)._ Tony even commented that Steve was reckless, which, coming from him, was saying something. 

Bucky told them that Steve had always been reckless if it meant he could help someone. That was the difference. Even on missions not involving innocents, Steve would make the most dramatic decisions. 

  
  
It broke Bucky’s heart to think of how Steve had felt seeing his dead friend come back to life, blank eyes, blank soul, deadly power aimed at him. It must have hurt him so badly. Some nights, Bucky curls up next to Steve on the couch and cries. 

“I’m sorry...I’m sorry I left you,” he would say. 

 

It broke Bucky’s heart to learn that Carter had died right before Steve found him. That, on top of that grief, he had had to deal with Bucky’s crisis as well. As much as he resented Carter  _ (“I was jealous,” he says one night. “I loved you first, but she loved you the same. She knew you before, so she understood. I was jealous, but I never hated her.”) _ , he knew she was a good woman, a good person, probably the only one who deserved Steve. 

  
  
Being together again healed both their hearts.

 

* * *

 

**sorry**

 

 

Bucky tried to apologize to Sam, and Natasha, and Tony, and  _ everyone. _ It was part of his self-imposed punishment- _ 12 Step Program for Recovering Assassins,  _ he joked. 

He didn’t know how he knew about 12 Step Programs. 

Natasha waved him off with a flip of her hair, stating, “Don’t flatter yourself, James. You didn’t kill me and you’re not the only one who’s shot me.” It was hard to argue with that. 

 

  
Tony….took a lot of time. After months of radio silence, he barged into their apartment one night (at 2am), hands shaking, near manic. He couldn’t look at them. More quietly than Steve had ever heard Tony speak, he said, 

“I was wrong. I was….wrong. It wasn’t you. I watched th-the tapes. Jesus Christ, I can’t--”

“Tony, what--” Steve tried to get out.

Bucky spoke over him. 

“What did you see?” He asked. Steve put a hand on his shoulder, and Bucky held it there with his own. 

Tony’s eyes shot up, wide with shock. 

“What?”

Bucky repeated his question. Tony tried to breathe. 

“They-they cut the tendons in your knees, just to see what you’d do if you couldn’t walk. If you would still try to--” he choked off. 

Steve flinched, and Bucky squeezed his hand. He didn’t remember that particular horror, though he’s watched the video, with and without Steve there. 

It’s a small mercy. 

“Stark--” he began, but Tony cut him off.

“Jesus Christ...how did you--how--oh god, you were screaming, they were breaking your bones one by one, they were cutting you open, how--?!” He was silent after that, just staring at the floor, shaking and breathing hard. 

Bucky felt relief. Relief that Stark got it. If he didn’t forgive him, at least he understood how he’d gotten to that point ( _ “Mission Report: December 16, 1991.”). _

When Tony looked up after a few long minutes, the three of them just standing there, he looked haunted. Bucky felt sick that another person had been dragged in to his hellish past. But Tony didn’t look like he regretted it, watching those tapes. He looked resigned, and sad, and _furious_ , whether at himself or on Bucky’s behalf, he couldn’t tell.  “I’m _sorry_ , Barnes. I’m _sorry_ ,” managed to say, voice hoarse. 

Bucky just nodded slowly, words trapped in his throat. 

Tony looked at Steve, broadcasting shame. 

“Steve, I-”

“Don’t, Tony. It’s...we’re past it. We all--we all lost something. Let’s try to help each other move on from it, yeah?” Steve suggested softly. He still had a hard edge to his face, but when he looked at Bucky, it was with all the softness in the world. 

“We’re good, Stark. We’re good. It’s ok,” Bucky said. 

Tony looked at Bucky again, and his lips quirked up a little.  “You really are...something else, Barnes,” he said in disbelief. 

 

 

After Bucky apologized to Sam, he never shut up about it. Oh, he forgave Bucky almost instantly for tearing his wing off and destroying the original falcon suit. 

That didn’t mean he couldn’t tease the hell out of him for it.

“Hey, remember when you sent me careening out of the sky to my almost-death? That sucked, man,” he’d say out of nowhere. Bucky would groan and cover his face with a hand. He would look at Sam, and fight a smile at his shit-eating grin.

 

* * *

 

**insanity**

 

Bucky frequently feels like he is losing what little of his mind is left. The bad days are lessening, which he is immensely grateful for. But they still come with the constant buzzing, the yelling , he screaming, the gunshots, blasts, the howling wind, the orders, the begging. He sits for hours trying to parse who or what made a specific sound, one that only he can hear. He identifies some, like the shrieking of the daughter of the Ukrainian politician he’d-- 

Some sounds he deserves to hear on an endless loop.

Other times, it is his own voice screaming for a mother who would never know what happened to him, for a God who must have abandoned him (he was  _ never  _ good, not like Steve), for a friend who wouldn’t know to look for him. 

This, he thinks, is insanity. He knows he’s free, relatively safe, forgiven by most. But he still hears them, these noises, and he can’t make them stop, knows he shouldn’t even if he could.

 

* * *

 

**petrichor**  


It was raining on the day Steve really became Captain America. Peggy told him 

about the 107th, he ran to Phillips, and was told that his friend was not worth saving when he was most likely already dead. It was raining when he almost gave up a fight,  _ the  _ fight, the most important one of his life, the one to save his best friend. 

75 years later, after the blood and the horrors and reunions and relearning each other, Steve shudders at the thought of having left Bucky in Zola’s hands the first time. He feels selfish for being glad that they both ended up here, on a couch, half watching a movie, but mostly just feeling the other’s presence. But Bucky has voiced the same gratitude--if he had to suffer everything he did, he’s glad he wound up back with Steve. 

Steve looks out the window and it’s raining. 

He grabs Bucky’s metal hand and kisses his knuckles.

* * *

 

 

**summer**

 

The sun was never kind to Steve. Sarah had made him wear his dad’s hat when he was going to be outside for a long time. At the beach he’d keep his shirt on to ward off sunburn. Bucky would usher him inside after Steve argued with him about whether or not to stay outside (“ _ But Buck, it’s so nice out!” He’d say. Bucky would snort and say, “if you stay in the sun any longer tomorrow ain’t gonna be too nice.”) _

After Sarah had passed, Bucky tried to take care of Steve as best he could. He knew Steve hated it, but, he let him do it. Upon stepping on to the boardwalk at Coney Island in the middle of summer, Steve realized he’d left his hat at home. Bucky sighed and popped his own cap off, only to plop it onto Steve’s head. Steve halfheartedly fought it, grumbling a little, but eventually gave in. 

He hated that Bucky felt he had to constantly look after him, but he was grateful he had a friend who would.

 

* * *

 

 

**falter**

It hurts them both. They never used to give a second thought to what they said or did around each other. Now, 75 years later, they walk on eggshells. Steve doesn’t want to stress Bucky out, or scare him, or make him feel unsafe or guilty or anything else that he should never feel again. Bucky so desperately wants to be who Steve remembers, but he knows he will say the wrong thing, make the wrong move and break Steve’s heart all over again. 

This, at least, has not changed-they still protect each other. 

It’s Bucky who finally says something. They’re in the middle of doing laundry, Steve folding the first load, and Bucky transferring the washed load to the dryer. 

“You know you can’t hurt me, right?” he says quietly.

Steve freezes and squeezes his eyes shut, trying to will himself away from the impending conversation. He takes a deep breath, and looks at Bucky.

Bucky’s still moving, as if he hasn’t said a thing. It strikes Steve,  _ hard _ , how content Bucky looks. He’s not smiling, not at all, but he looks--at home. Comfortable. 

When Bucky suddenly  _ snorts _ , Steve can only blink in confusion. 

“A hundred years old and we’re both still dumb as bricks,” he states, turning to Steve with slightly upturned lips. “Look, we both have to stop treating each other with kid gloves. I know you’re afraid you’re going to upset me or something, because that’s what I’m afraid of.”

Steve sighs, and smiles sadly. 

“You’re right. I just don’t want to set you back, you know?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes but smiles.

“I’m going have...moments. Episodes. Bad days, bad weeks, whatever. They’re never going to be your fault, even if you accidentally set me off. But I guess I have to stop being a hypocrite, huh?” He gives a little grin, all teeth.

Steve huffs a laugh, 

“Yeah. Yeah, you’re right. Ok, no more tiptoeing. Deal?” 

Bucky holds out his metal hand, and Steve shakes it. 

“Deal, Rogers.” He’s smiling some more. 

Steve shakes his head a little, before looking a bit somber again. Bucky frowns, knowing he’s going to say something dumb, probably trying to absolve him of his crimes.

“But really, Buck, I’m just happy you’re here. I don’t care if you’re not the same. I’m just happy.” His face softens a little.

Bucky looks at him, really looks, and sees only truth. He gives a soft smile and says,

“Yeah, I know, Steve.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**underneath**

Bucky loves being underneath Steve. It doesn’t matter in what capacity or context. Sparring, horsing around, sleeping, awake, before, during, or after sex--he knows he’s safe.

Steve remembers feeling that way when he was small and sick and Bucky was taking care of him. The role reversal has never felt bittersweet for him. He owes Bucky so much for getting him through sickness and his mom’s death; for standing with him and watching his six. He loved having Bucky lie on top of him, and he misses it, but he doesn’t need it.

Bucky needs to feel safe. Bucky deserves this reciprocity from Steve. So that’s what Steve gives him.

There is no easier way to fall asleep than to pull Steve on top of him and hold him there. The weight is a comfort. He’s not floating in the darkness, not with Steve so close. It’s grounding.

He sometimes loses himself, or where he is, or any of a dozen things. But even when he doesn’t initiate it, Steve knows what he needs. Bucky knows that at one point, he used to be Steve’s rock. He can’t be that anymore. He’s too fucked up now. But he’s grateful that Steve seems content being his.

 

* * *

 

**awake**

He almost always wakes up before Bucky. He’s glad for it. He loves being able to watch him as he sleeps, undisturbed by dreams, or nightmares, or truths.  
He lies on his side, facing Steve. His face is soft in true sleep, sweet and almost childlike with the vestiges of baby fat that had never quite left him. His hair falls over his forehead in a smooth cascade. His lips are parted as tiny puffs of air escape and return. His flesh hand rests near his face on the pillow. And, best of all, Steve thinks, his metal one rests over Steve’s torso.

Steve stares and stares and thanks whatever is out there that Bucky is here with him, safe, content, and lovely.  
But Steve’s favorite part comes a little later, when Bucky stirs and his eyes flutter open, long lashes fanned out. He looks for Steve immediately, and when he finds him, his mouth forms the sweetest smile, soft around the edges. He murmurs sleepily,

“Mornin’, Stevie.”

Steve’s heart could burst every time.

 

* * *

 

**stay**

Bucky needed a lot of sleep after a bad day.

Yesterday had been almost terrifyingly bad. He’d forgotten where he was, thought Steve was dead. He was stuck in the early days of his captivity. He had thought he was hallucinating, kept saying that Steve wasn’t real, and yelling to be left alone.

Steve was afraid. Afraid that he wouldn’t be able to bring Bucky back to the present. Afraid that Bucky would be trapped in an endless loop of things that happened long ago. Afraid that he wouldn’t be able to prove he was real, and there.

It was well past midnight when Bucky finally came around. His throat was raw from yelling, and his eyes were red and puffy from sobbing. He just held onto Steve like a vice like he’d disappear if he let go. Steve was content to be Bucky’s anchor, he always would be.

 

* * *

 

**schism**

“I’m sorry,” he says, every single time Steve comes to see him.  
Every time, Steve brushes it off.  
There’s a list of things he wants to apologize for, but he can’t get himself to speak them aloud. He can only hope that Steve hears what he can’t say.  
Things like:  
“I’m sorry you can’t go home.”  
“I’m sorry your friends are in trouble.”  
“I’m sorry I’m not him.”  
“I’m sorry I’m like this.”

“I’m sorry about Stark.”

He doesn’t like to think about him. It hurts. He hadn’t remembered killing them until he was forced to watch that video. But he knew their faces. He knew. Watching his own blank face as he punched Howard’s until it caved in...watching himself strangle a woman to death without blinking…  
Howard had been… if not a friend, then an ally. They joked, they teased Steve, they talked tech. Howard was a brash young man, with too many bad habits. But he was a good man.  
He’d killed him.  
And the gravity of what Tony Stark was made to watch--what he’d done to this man, however unwillingly--hurts. He doesn’t blame Stark for going after him. He would’ve let him--  
But he’d gone after Steve too.  
Steve, who’d known what he did, who must know all of it--  
Steve, who’d tried to hold Tony off so he could get away.  
Steve, who’d sacrificed a friendship and a home and his mantle for him.

So, he apologized every time he saw Steve, hoping he’d say something other than,  
“It’s ok, Buck. I’d do it all over again,” with a sad smile.

He likes to imagine that he and Tony could’ve been friends, in another life, the kind that he and Howard had never really managed to be.

Maybe one day, when everything settled and he was better and Steve could stop fighting. Maybe one day…

 

* * *

 

**ninja**

No one should be that quiet. It wasn’t right. Everything made noise. FRIDAY measured the decibels of everything when he asked her to.

But he made no noise.

It was the third time he’d come down to the lab, probably at a loss as to what to do with himself with no Steve around.

Didn’t mean he had to sneak up on him.

“Jesus Christ! Don’t you know you shouldn’t surprise people with heart conditions?! FRIDAY, you should’ve told me he was coming! Do you _want_ me to drop dead?”

Barnes just stared at him, a little confused. He felt a little bad. You shouldn’t yell at people with PTSD, either.

“Uh...sorry. I forget sometimes, to make noise, y’know?” he says, looking down.

He looked like a kicked puppy. Right. Tortured. Traumatized. They probably beat it out of him. Dammit.

“Ah shit, no worries. My heart’s not actually that bad. What brings you down here today, Buckaroo?”

His lips twitch at the nickname, and Tony almost feels a little proud.

“Just wanted to see if you need help with anything...heavy lifting? Fire? Chemicals?” Barnes says, a little cheekily.

He barks out a laugh.

“Yeah, sure, you wanna give me a hand with this?” It's out of his mouth before he can stop it. Pepper would’ve probably smacked him upside the head.

Bucky gasps. Tony cringes.

“Uh…”

Bucky chuckles. Then it’s a full blown laugh. Not a guffaw or anything, but he’s laughing. So Tony laughs too.

When they get themselves under control, Bucky asks, “So, what is this? What does it do?” He’s all wide eyes and curiosity, like a little kid. Tony wonders if he was like this, before. He wonders a lot about Barnes before. He wants to ask a lot of things that are probably triggering and off-limits.

Instead, he says, “Well, I’m glad you asked! I will teach you the ways of modern convenience and/or laziness, grasshopper!”

They lean over the work table until Steve comes back that night, looking tired, a little dirty, but happy, and about as proud as anyone could.


End file.
